


There's a Waterfall in my Hands and a Rosebud in my Heart

by tobiyos



Category: Persona 5
Genre: First Dates, Getting Together, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, iwai puts the fear of god in akira's heart about staying away from his son, persona rarepair week 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:13:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27667304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobiyos/pseuds/tobiyos
Summary: His dad has told him stories about flowers, about overwhelming feelings and the idiots that push them down so far they have nowhere to come but right back up, and Kaoru had thought it was a funny myth, an interesting folktale. The look his dad had shot him when Kaoru waved it away makes more sense when he had to grind his jaw around the soft petals that start to clog up his throat painfully.Just don’t think about him,he resolves, bending over to cough up small, pink petals onto the street. Take a deep breath, and don’t think about him.--Kaoru Iwai is in love with Akira Kurusu. He doesn't know if that's a blessing or a curse.
Relationships: Iwai Kaoru/Kurusu Akira, Kaoru/Kurusu Akira
Comments: 16
Kudos: 25





	There's a Waterfall in my Hands and a Rosebud in my Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Happy! Fucking! Rarepair week!!
> 
> I have been so excited for this since I found out it existed. Rarepairs are my SHIT. I got back into writing fanfiction specifically BECAUSE there wasn't enough food for all of the niche pairings I like and oh ho baby. I'm about to SNAP.
> 
> Iwai's one of my favorite confidants and I've always thought Kaoru was cute and earnest and like. Lowkey in love with Akira and I've wanted to write a fic with them for AGES. This is a character that doesn't even have art for his dialogue in game. He's just a 3D model. I'm in love with him.
> 
> Persona Rarepairweek Day one: Hanahaki AU

Kaoru doesn’t know how to tell his dad that he’s in love with his part timer.

Iwai isn’t particularly _withholding_ when it comes to Kaoru’s feelings, but it’s not like them to sit around and gossip or talk about all of the girls in Kaoru’s homeroom he’d be interested in asking out. (He’s secretly very grateful for that last one, mostly because that answer is _zero_ , but the boys who’s eyes he’s caught one too many times would be a completely different story.)

And Iwai doesn’t really want Kaoru involved in his whole buisness situation either. Even after the mess with his borderline kidnapping, Iwai still insists Kaoru stay away from Untouchable as often as possible. Of course, that doesn’t stop him from dropping by on the rare occasion to see the head of dark hair behind the counter, the wry smiles that get sent his dad’s way when he says something particularly inelegant.

And just as much as Kaoru gets yelled at for hanging around, so does the new hire, even though his dad is letting _him_ stay. It’s just not fair.

Still, Kaoru drops by Untouchable because he’s bored out of his mind, and he secretly hopes that maybe his dad will offer to take him to dinner in an effort to get Kaoru out of the shop. Well, maybe not so secretly. He wouldn’t say he’s _not_ hungry.

He puts his hand on Untouchable’s door and glances through the window, ready to tease his dad over the buisness being empty _yet again_ , but he freezes, throat closing painfully. Akira is sat behind the counter where Iwai usually is, chin propped up in his hand and phone down on the small table between clear exhibition cases. He looks the same as he does every day, huge glasses perched on his nose and dark curly hair spilling over his forehead, and Kaoru’s chest pulls painfully tight, his hands curling against the pain that blooms sharp in his heart. And then he feels the flowers in his mouth.

His dad has told him stories about _hanahaki_ , about overwhelming feelings and the idiots that push them down so far they have nowhere to come but right back up, and Kaoru had thought it was a funny myth, an interesting folktale. The look his dad had shot him when Kaoru waved it away makes more sense when he had to grind his jaw around the soft petals that start to clog up his throat painfully.

 _Just don’t think about him_ , he resolves, bending over to cough up small, pink petals onto the street. _Take a deep breath, and don’t think about him_.

There are still flowers crawling up his throat as Kaoru pushes into the shop with a breath, waving when Akira looks up from his phone. “Your dad’s not here,” Akira says evenly, the hand on his chin going to the side of his face. “You get out of cram school early?”

Kaoru nods, and hopes the flush on his face isn’t prominent in the ugly fluorescent lighting as he fears it is. “Y-yeah. I thought I’d swing by and see if he wanted to get dinner.”

Akira glances down at his turned off phone, and then back up at Kaoru. He always looks so impassive, the thin lines of his lips pressed flat, but it gives him that air of mystery that makes Kaoru’s knees weak. Something soft tickles at his throat.

“He told me I could take you out if you showed up,” Akira says, eyes sliding towards Kaoru’s again. Kaoru swallows, suddenly nervous.

“Take me out?”

“Yeah.” Akira stands up and shrugs a bag over his shoulder, glancing at the door. “You wanted to get dinner, right?”

Oh. Kaoru’s… never really been alone with Akira for that long, and _especially_ not out of the shop. His interactions with Akira have a certain sense of isolation, considering they only really talk when Kaoru shows up out of nowhere at Untouchable, trying to push down the way his throat won’t swallow.

“Dinner sounds… fine. Are you sure?” Kaoru asks, watching Akira gather some of his belongings and throw his bag over his shoulder.

Akira shrugs. “It’s not like I was doing anything else.”

And… right. Right. Kaoru knows that Akira wouldn’t really be doing this if he didn’t have to. He’s the boss’s son; Akira has to be nice to him.

He follows Akira out of the shop and into the alleyway, wondering what Akira does with his own free time as he locks the door. He’s good looking, and mysterious, and he tends to be on his phone more often than not. Akira probably has a ton of friends, and a cool hobby, and maybe a pretty girlfriend who he takes to dinner just because he _likes_ her.

“Oh,” he blurts, feeling that choking sensation crawl up his throat again. Akira throws a glance over his shoulder that’s laced with mild concern, and Kaoru works his throat a couple of times desperately, trying not to push flowers past his teeth. He wonders if he’ll be able to keep from vomiting flower petals into the object of his obviously unrequited love’s lap.

“Are you okay?” Akira asks, leaning back to shove his hands in his pockets. God, he looks so cool and hot and Kaoru wants to drag him down by the collar and kiss him—

“I’m fine,” he croaks, a hand coming up to cover his mouth. He says, a little muffled into his palm, “I’ve been… um… dealing with a sore throat.”

“Hmm…” Akira hums. “You sure you’re up for grabbing dinner? I can just walk you home.”

“No!” Kaoru shouts, and cringes in on himself when it echoes off of the walls of the alleyway. “No, I… uh! It’s not that bad, actually.” He laughs. “It’s a tickle, more than anything.”

Akira shrugs. “If you say so.”

Akira takes him to a diner he’s been to probably a thousand times before and sets them up in a booth so small Kaoru has to consciously mind where his legs are so he doesn’t accidentally kick Akira. Akira in turn, however, doesn’t even look bothered in the slightest, setting his bag down against the wall and whipping his phone out on top of the table.

It’s painfully, awkwardly silent until their waitress swings by—a teenage girl with her hair up in a high bun. Akira orders some drink Kaoru doesn’t feel like he even knew they served, and Kaoru just gets water, hoping he can drown out the flowers before they choke him to death.

“Um,” he says, when the waitress walks away, because he thinks if the rosebud in his heart doesn’t kill him the silence will, “Thanks for taking me here, Kurusu-kun.”

“No problem,” Akira says, without glancing up from his phone. His eyes are a pretty golden color in the warm light, the grey swallowed up by the shining wood around them. “It’s not like I don’t like hanging out with you.”

Kaoru blinks. “What?”

Akira glances up from his phone with a frown. “Hanging out with you. Without Iwai around. It’s fun.”

“Oh,” Kaoru says, kind of blandly. That wasn’t really… the reaction he’d been expecting, especially when Akira spends so much of their time together staring at his phone or making short, stilted conversation. “I didn’t really expect that, um, considering how little we see each other.”

Akira snorts, leaning forward on his hand again. “That’s not for lack of trying. Your dad doesn’t like you coming around Untouchable too often, right?”

“Yeah,” Kaoru says, ducking his head with a flush. He catches Akira’s shrug out of the corner of his eye.

“We don’t go to school together either. And considering some of the stuff Iwai… knows… about me, I don’t think he’d be too happy if we _were_ supper close anyway.”

This is the most Kaoru’s ever heard Akira speak. He feels like his head is spinning because Akira is _talking_ to him, and apparently likes his company, and Kaoru is wholly unprepared for the blossoming warmth in his chest at the idea. “Oh,” he says again, very intelligently. “I mean… He’s not here now… so…”

Kaoru jumps when something touches his foot under the table, before he realizes its Akira’s foot. And then he tenses up again because Akira’s ankle brushes the side of his like it’s on _purpose_. “He isn’t,” Akira says pleasantly, his mouth quirking into a smile. “So, why don’t we get to know each other?”

 _Oh my god,_ Kaoru thinks, when Akira’s foot curls around his calf. _What is happening_?

“S-sure,” Kaoru says, his heartrate picking up in his chest. “What do you, uh—!” He makes an embarrassing squeak of a noise when Akira tugs on his leg gently under the table. He can feel his face turning red, flushing hot with embarrassment.

“Hmm…” Akira hums again, the smile never dipping away from his face. “What do you do in your free time?”

“My free time?” Kaoru asks, leg twitching when Akira lifts his foot off of the floor with the toe of his shoe. “I just do a lot of s-studying. I’m not that interesting.”

Akira’s smile falls a bit. “Sure you are,” he says, nudging Kaoru’s foot. Kaoru nudges back, just because he feels like he’s maybe got a hang of this game now. “You’ve got to do _something_ other than study. I mean, you probably jerk off or something.”

Kaoru sputters, cheeks flaming impossibly warmer. “I guess?” he squeaks. “Mostly I study and… I don’t know. I like video games?”

“There it is,” Akira purrs, the low playfulness of his voice making Kaoru’s skin feel hot.

Kaoru feels a shiver tear through his body. Akira— _nobody_ —has ever looked at him like that, like someone… interesting. Akira has always looked so bored when they’re together—Kaoru thought that extended to him as well. Now, though, terrifyingly, what he feels is… hope.

Oh god. He coughs and pulls his foot out from under Akira’s. His throat is closing, closing, and there’s flowers sprouting up from his chest into his throat and he’s suffocating—

“Kaoru?” Akira says, throwing him a worried glance. Kaoru shakes his head and crawls out of the booth, a hand over his mouth. Fuck. _Fuck_ , why did he think this was a good idea?

He stumbles half blind to the bathroom, trying to breathe through his nose even though _that’s_ not working either. Akira really is going to kill Kaoru one of these days, and it won’t be nearly as enjoyable as he thought it would be.

Thank god the restaurant is small, and the bathrooms are empty, so Kaoru ducks past the door and locks it with a click, stumbling towards the trash can off to the side of the sink so he can vomit flower petals into the empty plastic bag. It hurts and it _burns_ and Kaoru squeezes a few tears out of the corners of his eyes as they just keep pouring out of him, fluttering velvet soft against the roof of his mouth. It’s ironic how nice they feel around the panic in his chest.

There’s a knock at the door and Kaoru grips the trash can tighter, panting around the last few petals that slide off of the back of his tongue. The knock comes again, a little more insistent. “Kaoru.” It’s Akira, his voice slightly more even than it was before, that playful little lilt spiraled into tight mild panic. “It’s me. Are you all right?”

“’m fine!” Kaoru chokes out, hands shaking where they’re gripping the lid of the can. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I’m, um, sorry! I think I’m feeling worse, I don’t want you to—” he chokes again, voice tight. “I don’t want you to worry about me,” he gasps, leaning forward to cough up one last, pitiful petal.

“I mean, I already am,” Akira says softly, and there’s a very distinct _thump_ like he’s leaned his forehead against the door. He hears Akira clear his throat. “Sorry, I should have taken you home when you said you didn’t feel well. I just wanted to…”

Kaoru’s ears are straining as he tries to listen to Akira, but it seems like he’s not going to continue talking. “Sorry for not telling you how bad it really was,” Kaoru says back.

Akira laughs. “It’s alright. I, um, ordered some food to go, so I can just take you home. Maybe we can get dinner some other time?”

“Yeah,” Kaoru says, voice tight. He glances at himself in the mirror, noting how clammy and pale his skin looks. “Yeah, some other time.”

Akira walks him home with a hand on his back, and it’s as soothing as it is painful. Who was Kaoru kidding? Akira is _everything_. He’s cool and smart and quick witted and devastatingly attractive, and he managed to save Kaoru and his dad from the _fucking yakuza_ , so really, Kaoru just feels like he’s holding water in his spread fingers, waiting for it to filter through so he can get back to his normal life.

He’s never really wanted anything the way he wants Akira, especially when he glances to the side and Akira’s face is relaxed in the light of the city, his face flashing yellow and blue and white. He’s beautiful. Kaoru shivers.

“Are you cold?” Akira asks, the hand on Kaoru’s back crawling towards his shoulder so he can pull him in tight. Kaoru flushes, leaning into the warmth of Akira’s body before he realizes what he’s doing.

“Yeah, sorry,” he lies, trying to lean away. He can’t get too close, not when Akira clearly couldn’t ever love him back. His throat pinches tight. Think about anything, anything else.

“Here,” Akira says softly, shrugging his dark jacket off of his shoulders. Kaoru doesn’t realize what’s happening until there’s something very warm being draped over his shoulders that smells like coffee and lemon scented polishing oil.

Kaoru flushes so hot he thinks his face could catch fire. “Y-you don’t have to!” he stutters, lifting his hands to grip at the edges of Akira’s coat. He’s about to shrug it off and hand it back, breath coming short from his chest, but Akira just shakes his head, his eyes soft in the light off of the street.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, sliding his arm around Kaoru’s shoulder again. “Your dad will kill me if I let your bug get worse.”

“Thanks,” Kaoru says quietly, leaning down to bury his nose in Akira’s jacket. It really is much warmer with it on, even though he wasn’t particularly feeling the cold through the blazer of his uniform jacket, but now he just smells _Akira_ and Kaoru doesn’t think they’ve ever been close enough for him to actually _smell_ him. God, though, if he won’t miss it every second he can’t have it.

The walk back to the apartment where Kaoru lives is quiet, even if Akira doesn’t move his arm from Kaoru’s shoulder. For a little bit, Kaoru can pretend like they’re fresh off of a date, maybe, and Akira is walking him home like a good boyfriend, and maybe he’ll let Kaoru keep his jacket when they part, just because he can.

“It’s, uh, here,” Kaoru says, stopping outside of his complex. The street is dark and inactive even though it isn’t all that late, just because the area isn’t super populated. He tugs at Akira’s jacket. “Thanks for walking me back.”

Akira’s mouth tips down into a frown. “Can I walk you up to your door?”

Something tickles at the back of Kaoru’s throat. He tries to swallow it back. “You don’t have to,” Kaoru says quietly.

He sees Akira shoves his hands into his pockets, just because he can’t really look at his face. “I mean…” he starts and trails off. When he glances up, Akira’s face is dark with a flush, and it seems like he’s having trouble looking at Kaoru, too. “Thing is, I kind of feel bad about leaving you here on your own when you’re sick. I don’t have to stay, though,” he adds quietly. “If I make you uncomfortable or something—”

“No!” Kaoru interrupts, lifting his hands. Akira’s eyes catch on where his jacket sleeves are too long, flopping over the tips of Kaoru’s fingers. He lets go of a small laugh that makes Kaoru feel warm inside. “I-It’s not you, it’s…” Why is this so hard? When did Akira get so _nice_? “Yes,” he sighs. “You can do whatever makes you feel better.”

He hates the way Akira’s brightening face makes his heart rate pick up, makes him feel horribly and consumingly _affectionate_. What is it about _Akira_ , Kaoru wonders, leading Akira up a short flight of stairs to the door that leads to his apartment. He fumbles with his keys for a moment, and then takes a deep breath before he puts them in the lock.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks quietly.

Akira makes a noise at his side. “Doing what?”

“This,” Kaoru says, feeling a bit hollow. He gestures at the jacket over his shoulders, the lax way Akira is leaning against the wall. “Being… nice to me. You don’t know me, it’s not like we’re even _friends_ —”

There’s a hand on his arm and Kaoru realizes he’s slightly breathless, working himself up over why Akira is showing any intrest in him when he _couldn’t_ even like him. This has to be some kind of joke.

“Kaoru,” Akira says gently, and the hand on his arm turns him around, until Akira can crowd him against the door, a hand thrown up next to Kaoru’s head. It makes his head pound, his heart squeezing tight when Akira frowns and leans down, face impossibly close. “You don’t think we’re friends?”

“You don’t know me,” Kaoru chokes out.

“Hm,” Akira says, and the hand on Kaoru’s arm slides up, up, up, until Kaoru can feel Akira’s fingers on his jaw, tilting his face up oh so gently. “I can _get_ to know you,” he says.

There are flower petals in Kaoru’s throat and a knife in his heart. Akira is water slipping though his fingers and Kaoru is scrambling to just let him spill away, but it’s not working, not when Akira keeps _looking_ at him like that.

“Please don’t do this,” he says quietly.

Akira’s eyes widen, his hand dropping away from Kaoru’s chin as he leans back. “I-I’m sorry,” Akira says. “I thought—”

The knife twists, the dam breaks, Kaoru grabs Akira by the front of his shirt and hauls him forward into a kiss.

It _hurts_ , searing across his skin painfully even as the press of Akira’s mouth on his eases, because Kaoru feels like he’s still letting that fucking water drip through his fingers, but now he doesn’t know _why_. Akira’s hands come back to his face, just on the underside of his jaw, and Kaoru sighs, tilting his face up as Akira’s fingers brush over his skin. It’s like the world drops away for the slow, insistent press of Akira’s warm lips.

Akira kisses him softly, and carefully, with less heat than Kaoru would have expected considering everything about Akira is overwhelming and jaw dropping. It’s good, it’s so good Kaoru feels like he’s drowning, like he’s been too busy watching the water slip through his fingers to notice it rising up around his ankles, and now it’s at his chest, sweeping him along with the current. He groans when Akira licks hesitantly into his mouth, and then freezes.

They’re supposed to be for unrequited love. The flowers are there to remind Kaoru that he can’t have Akira, that he’ll _never_ have Akira. They bloom up past his throat faster than Kaoru thought possible, and before he knows it, he’s pushing Akira off of him, and ripping the door to the apartment open, stumbling towards his bathroom.

“Kaoru!” Akira shouts, but there’s a roaring in Kaoru’s head that tells him no, no, _no_. What does a kiss mean? It doesn’t mean _shit_ when he can’t breathe, when Akira’s jacket is around his shoulders, when Akira doesn’t want him, when Akira _shouldn’t_ want him.

He feels like he’s suffocating because the flowers are cutting off his air supply, and he barely makes it to the bathroom before he coughs up more flower petals into the sink. He’s crying, he realizes, as he chokes on what feels like a whole, solid flower. He’s fucking sobbing and there’s something lodged in his throat that’s soft and velvety and it’s _killing_ him as much as it is a comfort.

“Kaor—hey! Holy shit, are you alright?”

Kaoru tries to shake his head, but it just makes him cough up more flowers, his fingers digging into the sink. “Don’t,” he croaks, warbly around the petals in his mouth, but another wave of flowers pour out of his throat, and Kaoru can’t open his eyes when he has to focus so hard on breathing.

There’s a hand on his shoulder, and it slides down his back, as soothing as Akira’s voice in his ear. Kaoru doesn’t think he’s saying much of anything, but it makes the feeling in his chest burst, and the flowers start pouring out faster. Kaoru chokes, and wheezes, and doesn’t have the breath to tell him that Akira’s comforts are only making it _worse_.

“I’m sorry,” he manages to choke out, between waves of flowers and consuming sobs. “I’m so sorry.” Akira shushes him. Kaoru is dizzy when he wheezes, “ _I love you_.” and retches up another flower as Akira’s hand on his back freezes, and suddenly, _suddenly_ , that feeling in his chest feels lighter, less consuming, less blistering. Kaoru gasps, and coughs up another petal, realizing that they’re slowing into a manageable stream.

And then he realizes what he’s said.

Akira’s hand is still on his back, but Kaoru can’t bring himself to look at him, not when there’s snot dripping down his nose and tacky tears cooling on his face. Kaoru wants to climb into his bed and disappear for the next, oh, thirty years or so.

Akira’s hand starts to move again, ever so slowly in circles on Kaoru’s back. “Okay,” he says, “so, this is officially the most… _unique_ response someone has had to me kissing them.”

Kaoru huffs a laugh. “Sorry.”

He lets himself be pulled into Akira’s embrace, firm and unwavering as Kaoru curls his hands in the material of Akira’s shirt. “Is this because of me?” Akira whispers.

Kaoru nods into his shirt. “Yeah.”

“Hanahaki?”

Kaoru nods again. And then, in the most confused tone Kaoru has ever heard out of him, Akira mumbles, “I thought that was for _un_ requited love.”

“Huh?” Kaoru says, tipping back so he can look up at Akira’s face. He looks a little confused, eyebrows pinched. “It is,” Kaoru says.

That only makes Akira look more confused. “For me?”

“Yes?”

Akira makes a frustrated noise, hands coming up to grip Kaoru by the cheeks. “But I _like_ you,” he says.

Kaoru blinks a few times, and swallows around a massively sore throat, and then blinks again. He cycles through about a million things he could say, and somehow, miraculously, lands on a very plain, “Huh.”

“I thought you knew that,” Akira presses. “I’ve been trying to ask you on a date all night.”

Kaoru blinks again. “Huh.”

Akira’s hands shift towards his shoulders, and over the top of his arms, still covered in Akira’s jacket. “I’ve tried to ask before, but your dad was always around, and he told me very clearly once that I was supposed to stay away from you so I thought—”

“Akira,” Kaoru says, a little hollow. Akira stops rambling, finally, and Kaoru presses his mouth in a line on a dry laugh. “Kiss me?” he asks.

Kaoru doesn’t know if the second kiss is better or worse than the first. It’s hard to tell when the only real difference is that he’s less afraid, less unsure. When the heat of Akira’s mouth is more of a reassurance than a surprise, and Kaoru’s hands are shakingly pulling him _closer_ instead of trying to push him away.

Akira said he likes him. Kaoru’s been coughing up flowers for weeks because he’s got his head too far up his ass to keep it together. He feels like an idiot. Well, Akira sucks on his bottom lip and Kaoru feels like a very lucky idiot.

Akira kisses him until Kaoru is putty in his hands, melting against Akira’s chest happily, and when he pulls away, grey eyes shining, Kaoru realizes there’s no insistent press of petals in his throat.

“I think I’m stupid,” Kaoru says, half dazed.

Akira laughs and pecks him on those nose. “It’s a very cute stupid.”

“Did you really not ask me out because my dad told you not to?”

Akira flushes, reaching out to push Kaoru’s bangs away from his eyes. “Iwai is very scary.” He says, by way of explanation.

Kaoru leans his head against Akira’s chest with a smile and feels like he’s _drowning_.

Yeah, he really needs to start talking to his dad more often.

**Author's Note:**

> WOO! NICE
> 
> Alright. Okay. I genuinly have no idea if anyone is going to read this fic but I only spent like two days writing it so it's whateva. I'll be posting four (? i think it's four) more fics for the week (though they aren't going to be Kaoru/Akira. Sorry.) If you want updates or to come talk about Persona with me I'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/tobi_yos) and remember! Kaoru best boy ;)


End file.
